To find pleasure in life, make the most of the spring.
Heaven is high, Earth Wide. Bitter between them flies my sorrow.
The living is a passing traveler; The dead, a man come home.
Forever and forever and forever
Beneath the blossoms with a pot of wine, No friends at hand, so I poured alone; I raised my cup to invite the moon, Turned to my shadow, and we became three.
The paired butterflies are already yellow with August Over the grass in the West garden; They hurt me. I grow older.